Defiance Of Meaning.
The fighting has died off once again,
They slump amid the mud
Wondering if their 'war effort' will be in vain,
Whilst staring at a recent victim's face covered in blood.
Witnessing comrades fall and die,
Some must of asked why?
In these fields of death, If there is any room for love and care?
Now that the festive season is kind of in the air.
Then the 'Jerries' started to erect Christmas trees and many a lantern light,
Then started singing 'Silent Night'.
To the 'Tommies' it was a pleasant sound and different sight,
Even more so on that smoke filled night.
They respond likewise,
With Christmas carols that fill the skies.
Before long, batches of each entrenched side would be singing along,
Together in the next 'chosen' song.
One side would sing and the other would be cheering and clapping,
There seemed no stopping.
Shouts of 'friendship' ring out from from both opposing lines,
Each side making 'come over' signs.
Slowly but surely, men from both each side emerge from their part of each trench,
Out from their corridors of hell, from the blood and mud filled stench.
Uneasily men with different shades of uniforms walk towards 'no man's land',
Both sides reaching out to hug and shake the nearest 'foes' hand.
Hugging and exchanging of cigarettes, chocolate, pictures, stories, jokes and seasonal cheer,
The thought of getting killed by one another is was no longer a fear.
A game of football breaks out, only 'opposing' teams,
No one died, no blown to smithereens!
Only a few hours before, they were trying to wipe out each other,
But now it was love thy brother.
It seemed like a dream, it didn't make sense.
Mortal enemies, with no need for defence.
However like most good things it come to an end,
The enemy friend is no longer a friend.
Cannon fire ends their game of football,
Both sides obey own high command call.
Every one scrambles their respective ways across the crater filled pitch,
Returning to their 'normal days' back to a watery ditch.
So back to shooting the heads off short-lived friends,
Until the next night descends.
The politicians and generals said, 'There's no room for good will in the carnage of war, '
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poem by Guy Lipmore
Added by Poetry Lover
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